


How Dizzy You Must Feel Going 'Round

by Jennsepticeye



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gay Pride, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, gay bars, wlw author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 17:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennsepticeye/pseuds/Jennsepticeye
Summary: Life as a queer man through the eras, from the perspective of a ninety year old super soldier





	How Dizzy You Must Feel Going 'Round

It’s 1938 and they’re sneaking down alleys and backstreets because, according to Bucky, what they’re doing is ‘stupid and dangerous.’ Steve doesn’t care because he’s going to go dancing with his best guy no matter what, and the Black Cat is the one place they can do that. Some kid in Steve’s art class had told him about it. Though he has no idea whether the place is still open but it’s worth a shot, even if Bucky had been reluctant to go. But if Steve Rogers is going to get himself in trouble, James Barnes is never very far behind.

The place is still open, they’re probably paying off the cops or the mafia to stay that way.

Next week Bucky will find a pretty doll with a pretty friend, sister, or cousin, and they’ll go to the normal dance halls and pretend they aren’t crazy for each other. Tonight, though. Tonight, they get to act like they can have something normal with one another.

~*~

Bucky, the only voice of reason that Steve has, is only doing this because the last thing he wants is his lover arrested for indecency. Steve, for all his dates seemed to think otherwise, looks pretty as a picture. He’s still got smudges of graphite on his hands and face. Bucky wants to kiss all of them. He’s not sure where Steve learned about the Black Cat and he’s not sure he wants to know.

It’s not what Bucky expects, on the outside. There’s no sign that says, ‘Welcome Fairies.’ There’s just a spinster darning a pair of stockings on the stoop who tells them not to cause trouble. It’s not what Bucky expects on the inside either. It almost looks like a normal bar until he pays more attention and realizes that half the men are women in suits and half the dames are men in dresses. It’s nothing like the fire and brimstone sermons have led him to expect. It’s just a bar. It’s just a bar with a jukebox playing Irving Berlin in the corner and couples dancing on the cramped floor space.

It looks so close to a normal bar, but Bucky’s shoulders are still tense with a sense of _wrongness,_ like they shouldn’t be doing this. And not just because it’s dangerous. Then he looks over and Steve’s got this _look_ on his face. Bucky can’t quite tell what it is but it’s soft and _good,_ and Steve looks so happy. It’s like all the nervousness and pain has drained from his crooked shoulders for the first time since his Ma died. How can something that make’s Steve this happy be wrong? Anything that makes him smile like this is wholly worth it.

Bucky is finally pulled from his head when Steve pulls him farther into the building. He’s strong for a guy his size, or maybe he’s just scrappy. Bucky lets himself smile too as the bartender hands them each a beer.

~*~

Thirty minutes later Bucky feels like he’s floating, head in a cloud of booze and the feel of Steve in his arms. The low light makes his best guy’s cheeks look flushed and sharp. It’s the healthiest he’s looked in a while. His eyes are bright, and Bucky finally let’s himself kiss the smudge of graphite under Steve’s left eye. The skin beneath his mouth is warm and it shifts as Steve grins. He’s got his delicate fingers looped in Bucky’s suspenders, and Bucky’s got his hands in Steve’s back pockets. Steve’s got two left feet and bad lungs which means there’s no chance of really dancing but swaying back and forth in each other’s arms is enough.

They both know the moment they leave the Black Cat this all goes away. Outside the bar they’re Steve and Bucky: close as brothers and nothing more. Maybe once they’re home… Maybe once they’re home, they’ll lay all the blankets out on the floor. They’ll be so close, Bucky will leave marks on Steve’s collarbones where his shirt will cover, and he’ll swallow all the noises straight from Steve’s mouth.

They stay until last call, until Steve, for all his Irish blood proclaims, is nearly falling over with intoxication. Bucky ends up carrying him most of the way home.

~*~

In 2012 it starts with a flag.

A week after the battle of New York and two months after Steve is brought back from the dead, he dedicates himself to spending as little time as possible in the tower. It’s not that he doesn’t like the tower or his new team, but sometimes it’s all a bit much. Sometimes, a lot of the time, he needs to get away from it all, to make space and untangle his thoughts. He’s got enough military back-pay to not worry about the cost of riding every subway from Harlem to Queens to Brooklyn.

Funny enough he spots the flag first in his hometown, flying over the post office he watched get built when he was thirteen. He marks it down in his list to look up later. _Rainbow flag._

After he spots the first it seems like they’re everywhere. Most have the same six stripes, others have black and brown, and a few have stripes of magenta and teal. Steve isn’t sure what the differences are, so he marks them down in his list too.

Oddly though, Clint is the one to bring it up before Steve can look it up. He catches Steve just as he’s trying to leave for the day.

“Hey, Cap! Wait up a sec.”

“What’s up, Barton?” He holds the door open so Clint can step into the elevator.

“Not much, I just wanted to check in on our resident popsicle, see how you’re adjusting. We haven’t seen much of you lately.”

Steve shrugs. “Like you said, I’m adjusting.”

Clint seems genuinely glad that Steve isn’t on the verge of some massive mental breakdown. “That’s great, man. Listen, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Steve is silent, waiting for him to continue. “Okay, umm… so I’m sure you’ve seen all the rainbow flags around, and that’s because it’s Pride month. And, since it’s Pride month, people are gonna start asking questions and I wanna make sure, well Pepper wants to make sure, that we’re all on the same page.”

Steve’s confused and his face must say as much.

Barton sighs. “Look, after Stonewall, and I think it was Onofre? Anyway, some historians raised some rather invasive question about the nature of your relationship with Sargent Barnes. Leading theory is that you two were a little closer than brothers. Lovers, I guess.”

_Shit. How?_ They had been so careful about who they told, and how they acted in public. Everything more than friendly had been strictly behind locked doors. Steve hadn’t even wanted to tell the Howling Commandos until Dernier stumbled upon their sleeping arrangements. Steve acts without thinking and hits a button. The elevator slows to a stop on the sixteenth floor and the doors stay firmly shut.

Clint looks halfway nervous, though Steve’s sure Barton could kill him at least fifty different ways in the elevator alone. Steve can’t get the words out. What does he say? What _can_ he say? Sure, it’s the future, but he doesn’t know what will happen if he admits the truth.

“Hey, man.” Clint says. “I probably should have explained a little better. Stonewall was a riot in ’69 for LGBT, homosexual I guess, rights, and Onofre was the decriminalization in New York in 1980. I mean, same sex marriage is legal in all fifty states and I don’t–“

Really, Steve can’t be held accountable for putting a large dent in the elevator wall. Honestly, he wants to punch it again and again and again until his hands break. Then he remembers that he’s not alone, and that Barton is probably, rightfully, a little scared.

“Cap? I didn’t mean–“

“Don’t!” He snaps with more force than is definitely necessary and presses the open-door button. As soon as the gap is big enough, he stomps out into the R & D labs. He’ll take the stair the rest of the way.

By the time he reaches the lobby he’s sprinting, blood pounding in his ears. He can’t do this. He runs and runs and runs until he’s sure his boots are falling apart and black spots dance across his vision. He wants it to hurt. He runs for an hour, maybe more. He can’t stop. He won’t. Even when he crosses the bridge and lands back in Brooklyn. For the first time in years he is well and truly out of breath by the time he reaches Cypress Hills. He dry heaves into a garbage can for good measure.

His phone buzzes with the eighteenth missed call from Clint. He silences it and pulls up his browser.

_Queer Rights USA_

_Approx. 67,000 results in .68 seconds_

  * > _LGBT rights in the United States- Wikipedia_

  * > _LGBT Rights Milestones Fast Facts- CNN.com_

  * > _LGBT Rights in the United States | Equaldex_

  * > _LGBT Rights | American Civil Liberties Union_

  * > _Gay Rights in the US, state by state | World News| theguardian.com_




At some point in his reading Steve finds himself on a bench, breath shaking in a way it hadn’t since Erskine’s serum. He shuts off his phone completely and puts his head between his legs. After too many moments have passed, he stands and shuffles into the cemetery.

It takes surprisingly little time to find Bucky’s empty grave.

_James Buchanan Barnes_

_Medal of Honor_  
Sgt.  
107th Infantry  
Howling Commando  
WWII

_Jan 21, 1945_

Bucky’s grave isn’t in abandoned disrepair like he had maybe expected. It’s wider than the uniform rows beside it, taller too. It stands out, well taken care of and surrounded by things. There’s lots of flowers and cards and children’s drawings. There’s even a faded Bucky Bear that would have been brand new when it was left. It hurts so much, but Steve can’t find it in himself to cry, so he sits down instead, back against the granite. It’s cold, from the shade. It’s cold like the train.

“Hey, Buck.” If he closes his eyes, he can pretend like nothing has changed. Maybe they’re side by side on their fire escape, or in some muddy foxhole behind enemy lines, shooting the shit like they used to.

“I know it’s been a while. I did something stupid and got myself killed for a good seventy years. You would have been pissed at me.” He sniffs. “As soon as I heard I had to come see you, tell you.”

“We used to talk about the future a lot before the war, mostly ‘cause you were a nerd if I ever saw one. I remember how you could talk about fancy flying cars for hours, and then you would still listen to me spouting about on my socialist soap box. You would listen to me go on and on about equality and rights. So much has changed Buck. I could tell the world about us and no one could give us anything for it. No discharge, no prison. Nothing. Hell, we could get married in all fifty states.”

“We spent so long hiding, wasting money we didn’t have on a second room we never used. I could never hold your hand in public or kiss you under the mistletoe at John’s corner store. I never got to dance with you like we wanted. Shit, I wish we could now. I wish you were here with me.”

Steve stays until the sun goes down and the cemetery security tells him he has to leave. His eyes are still dry when he rides the subway back to Manhattan, and when he rides the elevator up to his floor. He pointedly avoids looking at the fist shaped dent in the wall.

The lights are already on when he steps off, and every Avenger is sitting in his living room, save for Thor who had been off world since last week. Steve can’t decipher the looks on their faces, but they aren’t good.

“Why do I feel like my Ma is about to burst through the door and wash my mouth out with soap?” The joke doesn’t stick, and if anything, the room feels more tense.

“Sit down, Rogers.” Nat says, clearly leaving no room to argue. “We need to have a talk.”

Steve does as he’s told. “What’s this about?”

When no one offers to explain Nat rolls her eyes. “First of all, we’re sorry. None of us really thought too hard about where and when you came from and we haven’t been asking to make sure you’re okay.”

“Uhm… apology accepted?”

Tony sighs explosively and throws his hands up. “Cap, do you hate LGBT people? ‘Cause the way Barton made it sound–“

Tony is cut off by the sound of Steve snickering. The whole situation is just ridiculous. “Oh Jesus, really?”

“What? What am I missing?”

“You lot do know I’m first generation American, right? My Ma and Pa were Irish?”

“I’m confused” Clint says, right as Bruce says, “Oh”

“What are they teaching in history classes these days? I’m first generation Irish American from a time when America hated immigrants just as much as now. And I was raised in Brooklyn, a predominantly black and immigrant borough with a huge queer scene. Not to mention the asthma–“ He cuts himself off. “Look, I know I’m old fashioned or whatever, but the only people I don’t like are bullies.”

“Wait, then why did you look so angry when I told you? I mean, you nearly broke the elevator.”

Steve takes a breath. He doesn’t want to look at Clint or anyone else, so he stares at his shoes instead. It feels wrong to tell people something he spent so long hiding. He trusts his team, but he doesn’t want to see the looks on their faces when he admits the truth. “I am angry. I’m pissed. And you were right about one thing. I guess a lot of people were.” He pauses, parsing for the right way to say what he needs to say. “Bucky and I were more than best friends. I was in love with him. So, I’m pissed because three months ago I lost my best guy and I planned on joining him when I crashed the Valkyrie. Instead, I woke up alone in a time we could have been happy.”

The mood has done a complete 180 from the small lapse of humor and no one is moving or saying anything and it’s starting to feel like all of this was a terrible idea. A very terrible one, and Steve wants nothing more than to leave.

“Shit, Cap. That sucks.” Tony says, and Clint snorts in surprise.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” Natasha says, and Steve instinctively braces for the _but you need to leave_ that never comes.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs. “It happened.”

“Sure, but you don’t have to deal with it alone. We’re in the same boat or whatever.” And Steve can hear the shrug in his voice. _Same boat?_ It’s the statement that finally makes him lift his head and look at his team.

“What?” Steve isn’t sure he heard correctly.

Tony shrugs again. “Yeah, I mean my preferences were all over headlines a couple years before you got defrosted. Like right after the Iron Man thing.”

“And basically everyone knows that Phil and I had a thing.” Clint admits.

Tony makes a scandalized noise. “You and Agent Coulson? Well I never!”

“The point is, Steve.” Bruce interrupts rather forcefully. “We support you.”

Steve smiles at them. It’s nice knowing that even though everyone who used to support him is gone, he’s got a trustworthy team on his six.

“And, if you ever decide you wanna come out, we can sic Pepper on the press. Show them what’s what.”

In the end, Steve doesn’t come out publicly. It just doesn’t feel right yet. Instead he volunteers at shelters for homeless LGBT+ youth and donates rather substantially to LGBT+ charities. It’s clear where he stands on the issue, even if most don’t know why.

~*~

When the Soldier first appears on Steve’s roof, his only goal is to stop him, take him in so they can know more about who wants Fury dead, and why. It isn’t till after that Steve thinks about his appearance. The way his mask looks a little too much like a muzzle and the wide, terrified look in his sad eyes.

The Soldier has the same look in his eyes, once the goggles are gone. His body language is all deadly confidence, but the Winter Soldier has the eyes of a frightened child. He fights to win, with no regard for his own well-being. All Steve knows is that _something is wrong_ about him. Something isn’t right.

Then the Soldier is coming at him, fighting to kill and Steve has no choice to fight back.

The muzzle clatters to the ground.

Steve’s heart stops. His tongue feels like lead and it’s a fight to get anything out. “Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

Scratch that. Steve’s heart is ripped from his chest.

~*~

Steve realizes, well and truly, that Bucky will never be the same when he tracks him to Germany. He let himself be found, and Steve doesn’t know why.

“You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

He knows Bucky’s memories are coming back, but this version of Buck is scarred and afraid and a shadow of the boy from Brooklyn.

“I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be.” He keeps his voice calm and steady, even though they’re on a time crunch he can’t risk scaring him off. “But you’re lying.”

“I wasn’t in Vienna.” He says, voice rough as glass, maybe from disuse, maybe from screaming. Steve hopes it’s the former. “I don’t do that anymore.”

_They’re entering the building._

They’re really on a time crunch now. The Polizei will certainly startle him more than anything. Steve can’t let that happen. He’s seen what Bucky can do when he’s cornered.

“Well the people who think you did are coming here now, and they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart. Good strategy.”

Steve hates the look on Bucky’s face, the tone in his voice. It’s void of any emotional reaction, it’s just an observation. He may as well have said the sky is blue. There’s no fear for his well-being. It’s like he knows he’ll be fine, or that he deserves what’s coming.

_They’re on the roof. I’m compromised_

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight.” He hates how the lie feels from his mouth. Nothing Steve has ever done has ended peacefully.

“It always ends in a fight.” And _fuck_ he sounds so defeated.

_Five seconds._

“You pulled me from the river. Why?” Steve knows a number of answers he’s hoping for. _Because I know you_ or _because I love you_ or maybe even _you know why._

“I don’t know.” He says instead, lying through his teeth.

_Three seconds, Cap!_

“Yes, you do.” Steve insists, and the Polizei are in the apartment. Bucky kicks a grenade towards Steve with no hesitation and then they’re fighting for their lives.

~*~

Steve knows that rationally he should have told Tony about his parents, about the Winter Soldier’s involvement in their deaths. Then again, Steve’s never been rational when it comes to Bucky. When it comes to keeping Bucky safe, Steve will do anything, including letting Bucky stick himself in cryo for an indeterminate amount of time.

He still hasn’t asked if Bucky remembers _them. Together._ He’s a coward and he knows it, but Bucky doesn’t need that pressure on top of everything else.

~*~

Steve is on an undercover mission with Nat when Princess Shuri sends word that the Wakandan scientists have broken the last of Bucky’s programming. He should be awake in another couple of days. Awake for good, if everything goes to plan.

Steve wants nothing more than to drop the mission and be there for Buck, but he can tell from Nat’s face that she won’t let that happen. Taking down the last of the Red Room’s operatives is something she plans on finishing come hell or high water. Steve understands, so he doesn’t blow their cover or fly back to Wakanda. He just buckles down and focuses on the mission. If he doesn’t, he’ll drive himself mad with worry.

The mission ends up taking another four months.

~*~

Six months of sleepless nights takes its toll, even with his metabolism. He could work through it, if he needed to, but once they’re back on a jet en route to Wakanda… Well, according to Natasha, he faints from exhaustion and doesn’t rouse once on the eight-hour flight. It’s the first time in five months he allows himself to dream about Bucky.

When they do finally arrive, it seems like the whole nation is keeping him from seeing Bucky. Almost immediately after landing someone is pushing him into the showers instead. He’s too tired to put up a fight, especially with Okoye and Sam. He lets them push him into a shower and clean clothing instead of body armor.

“You know, I think I finally figured out your type.” Sam says, after he’s dressed.

Steve hums, non-committal.

“Yeah, angry brunettes who shoot at you.”

Steve snorts, smiling. “You’re not wrong. Speaking of, I got Princess Shuri’s message–“

“And you wanna see your boy. Of course. Even though you look half dead and you _fainted_ on the way here, you still put him above yourself. Self-sacrificial bastard.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Come on then.”

The thought of seeing Bucky after so many months is enough to make Steve pick up his feet and follow Sam. He’s sure he could never find his way back through the corridors, winding as they are and tired as he is. But he follows and follows all the way to Princess Shuri’s labs.

And there he is. Bucky. _Shit_ he looks good. His hair is soft looking and well brushed and he’s smiling at something Shuri is saying. Gone is the titanium and the garish read star because he’s been fit with a new shiny black arm, probably vibranium, accented with gold. And Steve? Steve just stares like the lovestruck fool he is until Sam shoves him forward.

“Captain Rogers.” The Princess greets amicably.

“Princess.” He says, feeling a little guilty that he isn’t even looking at her. “Hey Buck.”

“Long time, no see, punk.” He says, and Steve just _has_ to hug him. So, he does. He holds onto Bucky like he’s going to disappear.

“I missed you,” he says. “Jerk.”

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve just as tight. “I missed you too, Stevie.”

Steve can hear Shuri ushering a rather reluctant Sam out of the lab, muttering something about _emotionally stunted white boys._ Then they’re all alone in the lab. It’s near silent save for their breathing and the occasional whir of Bucky’s left arm. That is until Bucky pulls back just a little, just enough so he can look Steve in the eyes.

“Stevie, can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Bucky swallows. “Hydra, Zola, they put a lot of shit in my head, including memories. So, there are some things rattling around that I’m not sure are real. I– Before the war, were we…” The end of his sentence trails off, but Steve knows what he’s thinking.

“Yeah, Buck. I’ve loved you since I was thirteen and I figured out what it all meant. Even when we had nothing, we had each other.” Steve’s voice is barely above a whisper.

“I remember the Black Cat, and we used to put all the blankets on the floor so the neighbors wouldn’t hear us.” Bucky smiles a little and Steve can feel the tips of his ears turning red at the memories. “I’m not the same anymore. You know that, right?”

Steve shrugs. “I think it’s safe to say that neither of us are anything like we were even during the war.”

Bucky licks his lips and Steve’s eyes follow the movement. He looks up just in time to see blue eyes turned down to his own lips. He really wants to kiss Bucky.

“Steve, I–“ Bucky glances at Steve’s lips again. “Ah, fuck it.” His arm whirs again when he grabs the front of Steve’s shirt and hauls him into a kiss.

And _wow,_ Steve hadn’t realized how much he missed kissing Bucky until right now. How could he have forgotten? How had he forgotten the way Bucky’s lips feel, rough in texture but soft and gentle. The way his teeth sting against Steve’s bottom lip and the way his tongue soothes. Steve doesn’t hesitate a second before reciprocating, holding Bucky’s face in his hands and pressing closer, closer, closer. He presses until it’s hard to tell where he ends, and Bucky begins. He’s drowning.

When they finally separate Bucky looks impossible, face flushed, lips swollen, and hair sticking up in every direction. Steve is sure he doesn’t look any better.

“You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, pal.” Bucky says, metal and flesh thumbs tracing the dark circles under Steve’s eyes.

“Hmmm. Try months.” Steve’s eyes are closed and he’s leaning into Bucky.

Bucky sighs, probably rolling his eyes. “Idiot. What would you do without me?”

“Faint on a quinjet, evidently.”

“Come on, dumbass. Budge up, we’re going to bed.”

Steve doesn’t remember much of the walk back to his room, but when he wakes up, hours later, with a mouthful of brown hair, he can’t say he’s unhappy with how things turned out.

~*~

It’s 2020 and Steve wakes up to Brooklyn sunshine through the apartment window and Bucky’s arm around his waist. He turns around so they’re facing each other and Bucky smiles, eyes half closed with the remains of sleep.

“Mornin’, punk.”

“Morning, jerk.” He kisses the end of Bucky’s nose just to watch his face scrunch up. “Hey, what day is it?”

“Like June fourth or somethin’. Why?”

Steve grins, “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

Bucky sputters drowsily as Steve rolls out of the bed. He’s definitely not a morning person, even if it is after ten. “The hell? Why?”

“Cause I got something I wanna show you.”

Five minutes later, Bucky stumbles into the kitchen, fully clothed. He spends the entirety of breakfast trying to make Steve reveal his plans for the day, where they’re going, what they’re doing, etc. It doesn’t work.

“It’s a surprise, Buck. I promise you’ll like it.”

“You better be right.”

The festival is only a couple blocks from their apartment. A mile of street closed to cars and filled with vendors and colorful flags and people. It’s no louder than Time’s Square but Bucky keeps one finger in Steve’s belt-loop anyway.

“Steve, what is all this?” Bucky asks. He had been filled in about the Stonewall riots and all the law changes, but Steve never told him about Pride with a capital P. He wanted to _show_ Bucky how much everything had changed.

“It’s a Gay Pride Festival, Buck.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I wanted you to see it before I told you. Honestly, I thought you’d have come across them by now. They’ve been going on since the seventies.” Steve explains, slinging his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. There’s an echo of a memory. Bucky doing the same thing to a much smaller Steve, decades ago in a Brooklyn back alley. “Been to a few myself, even though I haven’t come out publicly yet.”

“So, that means I can do this?”

Before Steve can ask what he means, Bucky has pulled him down into a kiss. Their baseball caps knock together and tumble to the ground. Steve doesn’t care. Their teeth knock together because they’re smiling too much to make it any good.

“Yea, that’s exactly what it means.” Steve grins after they pull apart. Then he’s taking Bucky by the hand and leading him farther into the festival. “Come on, sweetheart.”

“I’m coming, you punk.”

Tomorrow some gossip rag will air a sneaky cell phone picture of Steve Rogers (aka Nomad (aka Captain America)) and Bucky Barnes (aka White Wolf (aka The Winter Soldier)) with their hats off, kissing in front of a rainbow flag. Tomorrow Pepper will give them a scolding of a lifetime and call a press conference so they can explain themselves. But that’s tomorrow. Today, Steve’s going to enjoy Pride with his lover.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Pansy Division's "Spiral"
> 
> Fun fact, Pansy Division is one of the first Queercore punk bands, and their name is a play on the German WWII Panzer Division of tanks. They're the most famous, having been the opening act for Green Day's Dookie album tour in 1994. It was coincidentally the same year that Green Day's Lead singer, Billie Joe Armstrong, came out as bi.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWQ5mT1JbvY   
> Here's a video of them singing Groovy Underwear in the back seat of a limo.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed.   
> Comments and Kudos make my world turn so feel free to leave some love.   
> And happy Pride month!


End file.
